


Shots Fired

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Homeward Bound [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott, Alternate Universe, Blood, Detective Stiles, M/M, Major Character Injury, Murder, Teen Wolf AU, Until everything is terrible, Violence, everything is cute, terrifying Scott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:45:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1645838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott slowly starts rebuilding his life: a home, a potential new job at an animal clinic, and Stiles. All the things he needs to feel human again, until Peter Hale's hired gun finds him. Humanity doesn't last long with bloody claws.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shots Fired

The Jeep pulled up to the curb with a series of whines and thumps and a very worrying squeak. Automatic windows hadn’t been invented in the stone age, but Stiles still valiantly leaned across the passenger side to roll down the glass half-way before the shitty position had his arm cramping in all the wrong places. 

He scoffed, betrayed by his One True Big Blue Love, but it was only too easy to shift gears, wraggling his eyebrows at the tall glass of water on the side-walk. 

"Hey pretty boy, what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this? Looking for a ride? I can go from 0 to 60 in - two minutes. Give or take… Two minutes." His heart was thumping a beat too fast. Giddy excitement threatened to burst from his chest and make an even bigger mess than the one he and Scott had left on the living room floor the previous night. 

It had taken some searching to find this position. Scott was in a peculiar rehabilitation stage, and no one wanted to overwhelm him with responsibilities so soon. At the same time, they wanted him out of the house. Stiles disagreed. Stiles thought they could spend at least another month holed up in his apartment, getting lost in each other. BHPD wanted Stiles out of the house, too.

There was only so much vacation time he could eat up eating Scott up. 

\----

Scott couldn’t stop grinning, doing his best to keep from bouncing excitedly. He’d been so nervous about this next step, finding a real ‘job’ had been more overwhelming than even leaving the hospital or moving in with Stiles…though that had been pretty intense too. There was just something real about a job, something normal and human that he wasn’t sure he’d be ready for. There wasn’t any way to hide back in that bubble of sex and Stiles and safety that they built whenever they were together when he had to get up every morning and face other people.  Doctor Tate had been adamant that Scott have something in his life that was his own, some base to start rebuilding himself that didn’t belong to anyone else, not even Stiles.

It made him uncomfortable…at least until he’d been almost buried together in puppies.

He would have to remember to write Doctor Tate a thank you letter for making him do this. She’d just knew exactly what he needed and the animal shelter had been a perfect fit. The staff was quiet and kind and Scott had gotten along better with the animals than he’d thought. Helping families find pets to rescue and adopt seemed like such a perfect fit and by the end of the interview, he was actually excited about the prospect of working there. Maybe even a little bit confident that he’d done well.

The squeak of breaks and lame pick-up lines had Scott rolling his eyes as he leaned against Roscoe. “Wow, how am I supposed to resist an offer like that? Sorry, buddy. You’re gonna have to make me quite the offer if you want me in that ancient blue box of death. I’m a high class kinda guy.”

\----

Scott was grinning like all his birthdays had come, and Stiles would be lying if he said he noticed anything else. He wasn’t ashamed of his relief. He’d wanted Scott to ace this job, never mind that it was an important step in the whole rehab process, but Scott had wanted it. He’d prepared for it, beefed up on everything he could access, and did not let Stiles pick out his interview attire.

Success just made Scott exceptionally hotter. Stiles smirked, because he knew who he was coming home with. “Dude, don’t even. I know what you look like when you’re stuffing string cheese and pineapples into your mouth. Get your butt in here. I’m going to feed you.”

He patted the seat next to him, and succeed in not bouncing with anticipation. There was just one thing he had to do. When Scott took his seat, Stiles kissed him like he was coming home a victor. Stiles would’ve been happy if he was just coming.

"How’d it go?" He murmured by way of greeting, close enough that he could still lick Scott’s lips. "Someone offer to adopt you? Did you get your shots?" 

\----

The young man rolled his eyes again, making a show of his reluctance as he walked around the jeep and climbed inside. All pretense was dropped when Stiles kissed him and Scott couldn’t keep from grinning. “Haha, super funny. You’re going to be making dog jokes at me for the rest of eternity, aren’t you? Just you wait, one of these days you’re going to turn into something furry or maybe some nice soccer mom really will adopt me, what then?”

Scott pulled his friend in for another kiss, radiating a rarely seen confidence, before settling back into his seat with a satisfied smile. “I think it went great. They don’t mind working with a lycantherope and the guy who runs the place, Deaton, he said that werewolves tend to be really helpful when they try to rehab some of the strays. Something about a pack thing…and I just gave you more ammunition, damn it. You be quiet or I’ll bring home like thirty corgis or something and set them all on you!” He lightly punched Stiles’s shoulder to emphasize his dire threat. “They said they’d call me, but I think this might actually work out.”

A real job with real human responsibility. A chance to help people and work somewhere his abilities weren’t feared but actually appreciation. He’d be able to contribute something more than a clean house, the occasional meal, and affection to their growing relationship and Scott felt a flare of pride that he might actually be a partner instead of a pet or a patient. “You said you’re going to feed me and we’re clearly not moving towards any place with food, you waiting until I starve to death dramatically?”

\----

"You’re dumping Roscoe for a mom van?!" Stiles was outraged. Then Scott was kissing him again, and Stiles didn’t have the brain power to concentrate on the extra tongue in his mouth and villainous soccer moms. Scott pulled away, and Stiles already missed him. He hadn’t been able to wipe the smile off his best friend’s face, either. That probably meant they ought to kiss some more, obviously. Scott had all of 35 seconds to savor the lack of incredulity on Stiles’ face. It didn’t last long at all.

"No. No dude - ground rules. Now. You are not bringing anything home, ever. Fleas included. Do you remember that time when I _killed every goldfish that I ever owned ever_. Seriously Scott, the apartment’s reached its puppy quota of zero, and you’re probably like an honorable 0.5 on that meter.” He scoffed, working himself up, savoring righteous indignation as he coaxed Roscoe to life. Stiles couldn’t hold on to it. Scott was doing that thing with his face where he made all of Stiles’ problems go away, and Stiles had been whipped since before he could make porn jokes. ”If they don’t hire you, they obviously don’t know how to adopt out puppies…”

There was unabashed pride in his eyes, and that same, smug confidence that came whenever Stiles wanted to brag about being right. “Now shut up, jeez, you drama queen.”

This was a call for celebration. If Scott got the job, he’d have a stronger motive to think up awful canine puns. If Scott didn’t, lots of consolation sex was to be had. Stiles won either way.

And Scott was getting that job.

Stiles was sure of it, so sure that he didn’t notice the beige Ford that was mirroring their progress through traffic. On the tail end, like an afterthought, he tacked on, “My jokes are funny, man, don’t even.”

\----

“Depends on how put together the mom van is. Maybe they’ll get from zero to sixty fast enough to give me a thrill? Plus, they probably won’t fall apart or catch fire as soon as they pull out of the driveway.” Scott knew Roscoe held a special place in Stiles’s heart but he couldn’t help but take a few harmless jabs at the rust bucket. It was only fair with all the dog jokes he knew were coming and Stiles’s face was priceless. He wanted to kiss him until the human couldn’t breathe and leave him dazed.

“You don’t want an army of tiny dogs to wait for you when you get home? I promise I’ll take care of them. I always had better luck than you, I don’t have the touch of death for every living thing that got near me.” Scott was so pleased with the world that he let the puppy comment go, conceding that his friend might be a tiny bit right about that…if by puppy he meant big bad wolf. A man had some sense of pride after all, harrumph.  “I think I’m actually going to have a job, dude. I need to get a motorcycle asap, I can’t have you drop me off every day like I’m a ten year old! I need stuff…like, things. I don’t know, what do normal people have for jobs? Oh my god, I have no idea what I’m doing.” Scott played up the drama queen angle, groaning as he feigned a meltdown and leaned back against his seat.

After a moment, the wolf looked over, completely deadpanned and face a mask of absolute sincerity. “I think your jokes are very funny, Stiles. I’ll tell you that as many times as you need to hear, at least until you feed me. So where _are_ we going, I’m totally starving!”

\----

"I should make you walk," Stiles commented darkly, like he was already naming and cursing each lieutenant in their army of furry monsters. He pet his steering wheel sympathetically. "We don’t deserve this abuse."

He was having such a hard time maintaining his scowl, he pitied himself. Where was one’s dignity when one could not look eternally affronted and disapproving? Up one’s ass, that’s where. Stiles was having difficulty managing a crises. He wanted to kiss the enthusiasm off Scott’s face until he was flushed and dazed with it, but he needed eyes on the road to not kill them. Stiles’ life was so hard, and other things were getting there.

"And just for that? I’m gonna drop you off every day. For a year. Ungrateful jackass." He kissed Scott at the next stop light. Softly, Stiles insisted, "We should look at that lot downtown, after this… Look at options. Don’t want your lame ass bike to embarrass Roscoe too badly."

He only cared a little when everyone started honking. Stiles only decided to actually drive because the longer they waited, the longer they were kept from the best homemade pies in town.

\----

“Mmhmm, you know I’m right.” Scott said, smug asshole grin firmly in place. He savored the stolen kisses, pushing for more even if they were in the middle of traffic. Everything was amazing and he wanted to take out his enthusiasm on Stiles. “It won’t be a lame ass bike, it’s going to be awesome. You’re going to be completely jealous of my baby, dude. It’s going to be so cool that it’ll make Roscoe cry. If you’re nice to me, maybe I’ll let you ride on the back but you’ll have to hold on tight. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

He glanced behind them at the honking cars, in too good of a mood to even care. They could wait an extra minute or two, Stiles’s mouth was just so damn distracting…

Scott looked behind them again, the barest hint of a frown as he tried to ignore the sudden niggling sense of paranoia. He was fine, everything was fine. He had talked to Doctor Tate about this, it was all in his head after everything he’d been through and it would take some time before he adjusted enough to let it fade. The wolf did his best to ignore the feeling, settling back into his seat, though his eyes kept drifting to the side mirror.

“Hey, if you drop me off out front while you park, I can grab us a table?”

\----

"Maybe I’ll let  _you_ ride in the back,” Stiles sneered, and even if no vehicle in this world - with the exception of the Death Star, because reasons - could be more awesome than Roscoe, banging Scott on his bike didn’t sound like too bad an idea. He could get behind that. Twice. 

Marge and Joe’s promised exactly what their name implied, greasy over-sized burgers and homemade fries and pies. It was pretty crowded this time of day, and Stiles didn’t think twice about letting Scott go ahead. Still bopping along to Roscoe’s dated sound system, he shrugged, “Yeah, dude. Go ahead and order. I want the bacon cheeseburger with root beer and whatever their pie of the day is and maybe you in whipped cream.”

He tipped Scott a wink. He stole another kiss. He considered screwing food entirely and screwing Scott instead. Yet as Roscoe puttered to a stop at the curb, he snaked an arm around Scott’s shoulders, just holding him close. They were here. They weren’t at Eichen House. There was no one to tell them what to do, except each other, and Scott laughed like he didn’t care who was watching.

"Hey… You’re gonna be an awesome vet, and we’ll like - get you vet clothes and make out in the mall after this."

Stiles couldn’t know how close they were to not having an ‘after this.’

\----

“Mmmhmm.” Scott didn’t rise to the bait, letting the innuendo roll off his back like he didn’t notice. It wasn’t until he was pulled into a kiss that he showed Stiles exactly what he thought about the offer, moaning as he slipped his tongue past the human’s lips and tried to steal the breath from his lungs. He bit down on Stiles’s bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth before pulling back with a satisfied smirk. Just enough to rile him and remind Stiles what it meant to taunt a wolf. “Deal, I’ll see you inside but if you die from a heart attack after eating all that, I’m going to write ‘I told you so’ on your grave. I’ll bet your Dad would agree with me on that one.”

With a laugh, he slipped from the jeep. “Mall make outs, seriously. You really are a fifteen year old boy.” Scott shooed him away, rolling his eyes and doing his best to pull back the adoring puppy face he couldn’t help making as Stiles drove away. He had it bad and it was embarrassing, but how could he stop himself when he spent the day helping set his new future, grasp his independence, and was going home with the hottest guy in town? Sometimes he wasn’t sure this was really his life.

Scott paused at the entrance of the diner, that prickle of paranoia causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. He tried to force himself to ignore it, just another glitch in his brain, a holdover from Peter Hale that wasn’t real.  He wasn’t chained anymore, he didn’t have to be afraid…fuck.  Rolling his shoulders to ease the tight muscles in his back, he stepped away from the door and went hunting. Once around the block, quick and efficient just to settle his nerves and prove it he was just being an idiot like always. Hopefully he could make it back before Stiles parked.

\----

Stiles was still grinning as he drove off. He wouldn’t be if he’d noticed the same beige sedan had been trailing him ever since he left the station. Out of town plates were hidden in the back seat, and what his car had screwed on belonged to a rental. The pursuer was stationed away from the diner, leaving no room for association, but within sight of the parking lot. Through the cramped plot, Stiles’ jeep stood out like a sore thumb, as it idled, waiting for a station wagon to pull out.

There was a camera in the front seat with information about the more intimate details of Scott and Stiles’ home. There was a gun beneath it, with bullets that were twice as expensive any made of lead or steal, filled with something far more deadly.    

Marcus Haddock had been paid for a simple task. His objectives were simple enough: map out their routine. Map out when they were the most vulnerable, and how to access the places they frequented. Stilinski’s workplace was off limits, but the parking garage or his father’s home had potential. The wolf never seemed to leave their house, which was a benefit in itself.

All he needed was for Stilinski to park, and he’d be able to secure a tracker to the vehicle. The wolf was already inside. He ought to be gone in a few minutes.

\----

Scott prowled, unable to shake the paranoia and finally giving in to the feeling. Let it run its course, there wouldn’t be any other way to satisfy the fear.  He’d make it up to Stiles later. Humanity bled away, replaced by animal instinct that Peter had loved so much. Hopefully no one would notice the loose grace and hyper vigilance in the way his body moved or the red that bled into his iris. He was hunting, stalking prey in public and not caring at all who saw.

That car, he’d had a feeling about it before when he caught sight of the sedan in the mirror of Stiles’s jeep. There probably was some kind of innocent explanation for it, the chance they were being followed was almost laughable, but the wolf stalked closer. He kept to cover, downwind and out of the driver’s line of sight. He crouched and waited, eyes riveted on the car and waiting for any movement.

Stiles tumbled from his jeep, headed towards the restaurant when the driver finally pulled open his door, Scott didn’t fail to notice how the man watched his friend or moved purposefully towards Roscoe. Fear was replaced with rage, his people, his territory under threat from some outside force. A growl slipped past his lips, low and inhuman as he left his vantage point and trailed the man towards the parking lot.

A quick look around to make sure no prying eyes would see and the wolf struck, clawed hand wrapping itself around the man’s neck and hauling him into the shadowed space between buildings. There was no reason or logic left, Scott had already made up his mind about the threat and was reacting without thinking to defend what belonged to him even if the man could be innocent. “Who are you?” He snarled around long fangs. “Who sent you?”

\----

When Stiles entered the diner, he wasted time looking for his companion, and asking both Marge and Joe if they’d seen a handsome young man in plaid doing a puppy impression. Then everything seemed to lose focus, and he was excusing himself. Scott’s phone started to ring. Stiles was already on the move before he could pick up. His target was places to hide, places that couldn’t be seen from the main road. It paid to be familiar with the area.

Haddock knew the risks when he’d taken the job. Every cell in his body still clenched when he went down, and maybe that was because of how well he knew the risks. He stank of fear, but he brought his arm up, catching Scott on his throat as he tried to push him. He wouldn’t be able to force the werewolf off, but he could attempt distance from a fatal bite. He reached for the knife at his hip with pointed grace, aiming to slam it into Scott’s flank. Coated in silver, even if its base was steel, it made any wound burn.

He needed to get to his feet. He needed the chance to fire his weapons.

Hale’s only warning was that the wolf should remain alive until his usefulness ran out. There was a lot monsters could live through.

\----

Scott let the shift ripple down his skin, growl rumbling low in his chest as he snapped his fangs. The fear only made everything worse, spurring on his beast. Searing pain shot through his leg and he yelped in pain, rolling off of his prey in agony and inadvertently letting the man scramble upright. The silver in the blade made the wound burn like a red hot brand, stealing his ability to breathe as Scott clenched his jaw and pulled the knife free from his thigh with a groan. He pressed his hand hard against the bleeding wound, rallying his strength to stagger up to his feet and keeping the weight from his useless limb.

_Damn it!_

He’d been right, he knew this was all too easy. Anyone packing a blade like that was prepared to fight a lycantherope, this was a set up and he could almost smell Peter’s hand in it. He was older now, no inexperienced kid fighting off a band of hunters on his own. The years had shaped him into something ruthless, the mask of humanity hiding the real monster beneath and Scott had never been so willing to embrace it. He was not going back.

 The wound slowed him, but he could take a lot of punishment and he could deal with the pain for now. The wolf sprang awkwardly, bloody claws extended as he hooked his fingers into the man’s ribs to scrape along the bone. “I want a fucking answer!” He hissed, words slurred around his fangs. “Who sent you?! Either you tell me or I will cut it out of you.”

\----

Haddock lunged forward the moment he could. There was no defending oneself against monsters. He tried to add more cuts to his opponent’s collection, gesture sharp and economical, for thin but deep cuts. With a silver blade, it didn’t matter as long as he broke skin. He hadn’t expected Scott’s speed or resilience. He hadn’t expected him to fight through the pain.

He thought of vanquishing demons for he screamed. The knife was knocked out of his hand, and he must have been ripped in two. The pain was excruciating, but he still tried to squirm out of Scott’s grasp, screaming through clenched teeth as his vision blurred.

"I don’t know!" He tried to yell, because there wasn’t enough money in the world to face down death, not like this. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of the man’s credentials. He made a point to not ask for any. He did what he was paid for, and in his specialty, the less he knew the better. "I don’t know! I don’t know! Stop just fuckstopstop!"

Scott was living proof that he should have asked more questions.

\----

 _LIES_. Scott’s entire body burned, pain searing through his veins but he embraced it. He let the agony hone his rage, stoke his own violence. He’d been through worse, there was a reason he’d been so successful when Peter had pit him against other wolves. He curled his claws deeper, feeling bone break beneath his fingers and glaring through terrifyingly empty red eyes. There was no humanity behind them, just grim acceptance of what he was and what came next.

“I’m not going back to him.”

There was a boy who would have found a way to get the answers he needed with careful diplomacy and honest compassion. There was a boy who’d forgive any threat, who’d take the pain and trust that lessons had been learned. That safety was won through love and trust.  There was a boy who’d have been sick at the thought of torture or murder, confident that they’d be able to find another way. There was always another way. That boy was long gone.

Baring his fangs, Scott tore the man’s throat out in a hot spray of blood and felt _nothing_. A threat to him and Stiles wasn’t worth the emotion, no regret in removing the danger by any means necessary. He let the body slide from his claws in a bloody sprawl at his feet, breathing hard and letting the familiar numbness settle comfortably in his chest. Peter would have to send better than this, the Hale had underestimated him.

\----

Haddock tried to scream. He choked on his own blood. Pale hands pawed at Scott’s chest and arms, fluttering helplessly even after he died, even after his body sprawled across the ground, in testimony to just how fragile humans could be.

When he came across them, Stiles didn’t recognize Scott. The only thing he could think of was, ‘ _What a waste._ ’

"Get away from him, Scott." Stiles whispered, just loud enough that only the werewolf would hear him. He didn’t have his gun with him, but he had a satchel of mountain ash. It had been years since he’d left a house without it. His heart was miraculously steady, but Stiles wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t angry yet. His head was spinning.

The first thing he had to deal with was Scott. He needed to make sure Scott worked with him, that Scott was in a position to think. Big, sprawling strategies weren’t his style unless they needed to be, but sharp turns on a treacherous road, he could do. Just two steps. Don’t talk.”

Stiles knew he couldn’t smell blood, but that sensation was explicit whenever he saw it. He knew that. He knew he couldn’t lose Scott either.

\----

The wolf turned slightly, watching the detective over his shoulder through empty red eyes, face painted with blood. His shirt clung wetly to his body, slashed from Haddock’s knife and he favored his wounded leg as he remained still. A low warning growl rumbled from his chest, lips curling back from his fangs.

He stood, a predator over his kill. There was no remorse in him, no hesitation or guilt, no thoughts at all for the body at his feet. He had done what needed to be done to protect himself and those he loved. He wore the monster like a second skin, comfortable and familiar in a way he hadn’t felt since he’d been freed from Peter’s chains. Scott might have clung to his humanity, but there was nothing but the wolf in him now. A nightmare in red, the Hale’s killer and everything he’d tried to hide.

Blood gathered on his fingertips, thick and cooling as it slid across tanned skin to drip in spatters across the asphalt. Scott made no move to attack, he was a dominant apex predator and unthreatened by humans.  Moving stiffly on his wounded leg, he took a few steps back from the corpse, maintaining his defensive posture but allowing Stiles to approach.

\----

Stiles had seen many things in his line of work that made his skin crawl. Some of it made him want to burn out his eyes, but now it was painted across the face of the man he loved and left no room for anything else. Scott was terrifying.

Stiles knew he stank of fear, but he still approached with steady legs. He kept his hands where Scott would see them. He struggled to see everything else. There was blood on the man’s hands. The mess on Scott’s shirt suggested it wasn’t just human blood, and anyone who could wound a wolf like that was expecting to. This close his head spun with the stench of sweat and blood, so strong he could taste it.

"I’m going to fix this." He said. It wasn’t a lie. Stiles couldn’t believe that. His lips brushed against Scott’s but only for a moment. He didn’t step on puddles. He didn’t stray close enough to get blood on his person.

"There’s too much blood to move him." He hovered over the body, taking in everything that he could. Bile crept up his throat, and part of Stiles wanted to cry. He held his breath until he couldn’t.

"He followed you. He lured you? No. You came here on your own. Chance meeting - they’ll question that. Premeditation then, no. You gotta history for it. He followed you. You saw him. You killed him. He attacked first. He had to attack first." Stiles whispered, grounding himself with his voice, weeding out the less important thoughts that silence would allow to fester. His hands hovered over the corpse. He found another knife through sight alone, and a holster.

"He didn’t shoot you. He didn’t go for his gun. Had the chance? Knife’s faster always faster. Sneaked up on you. Never believe that, no you’re a killer, they’d never believe it. He shot you. Didn’t need to get close, just in range. He shot you - couldn’t miss. And you killed him."

He made sure to note what he disturbed, covering his hands with his shirt when he found the gun. There were only a few producers of weaponry that tackled the lycan community, fewer still that marketed the States. Stiles recognized the gun for what it fired. 

"You killed him."

He used Haddock’s hands to hold the weapon, making a note to get more blood on his own hands, making a note of what evidence to ruin. If the picture seemed clear enough, they’d be less inclined to look deeper. Werewolf attacks - attacks against werewolves were painfully common. They had been for a long time.

Stiles’ tone was even. He met his best friend’s gaze, but he bared he neck. He knew the Alpha was. “Turn around Scott.” He didn’t raise his voice. Scott could hear everything. “I’m going to shoot you in the arm.”

\----

 “He was one of Peter’s.” His voice was low and remarkably composed. Blood splattered and vicious, more animal than man but the worst part was the calm. He wasn’t some sort of raging beast like he’d been in the hospital, every movement was lithe and calculated, his breathing even, his claw marks efficient to end the threat with the minimum amount of struggle. Scott hadn’t lost himself, he was perfectly in control.

“He was hunting us, he had a silver edged knife and he knew how to use it. Fucking burns…” Scott ground the heel of his hand into his thigh to try and staunch the bleeding, bearing the pain through clenched fangs. It wasn’t until Stiles’s lips brushed his own and the scent of the human’s fear and stress finally hit home that he relaxed, humanity creeping back into brown eyes. He didn’t even think, everything had been running on instinct and training, he hadn’t considered the consequences of a dead body or Stiles having to “fix” it. When he was nothing more than a pet, a corpse was forgotten about as soon as it hit the ground. Scott was a fighter, his role was finished as soon as his opponent lay at his feet. Peter had others to take care of the mess and the wolf had never spared them a second thought.

But now he’d left the weight of a body on Stiles’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.” He was sorry that he’d brought so much trouble down on them, but not sorry he’d killed. There wasn’t enough of the boy he used to be to feel pity or regret at murdering a threat.

Stiles was going to cover it up for him, the guilt of that alone overwhelmed him. Scott couldn’t ask him to risk his job or his life for this, even if the truth meant their future together would be cut short. It would be selfish and cruel to let him bury this and take all the risk on himself when the human had so much to lose. The right thing to do would be to admit what he’d done and hope that the police would be able to connect the hunter back to Peter somehow. Why was he having such a hard time doing the right thing anymore? How could he be so selfish that he couldn’t let Stiles go even to save him?

With a shake of his head, he turned to face the detective with a wince as the wound in his leg protested the move. “He wouldn’t have shot me from behind and he would have been a better shot than to just wing me. You can’t kill me, Stiles. You have to make it believable. I’ll be okay, just do it.”

\----

Stiles looked up, and for the first time, it was like he was seeing Scott behind the monster. Except that wasn’t right. Scott was the monster. He was the creature that had pulled itself out of Stiles’ nightmares, and he was the beautiful man he’d fallen in love with. There was probably something in the Bible about that. “I’m not.”

Stiles was going to make sure he got home. He could never be sorry for that. There were wounds on Scott that he hoped he’d never dream of. He leveled the gun.

"He called you by name, full name. He wanted you to know you were marked. He’d want you to - see. That sick son-of-a-bitch." Stiles didn’t know if he was making sense, but the picture his mind painted was gruesome. He wanted the monster to be the dead thing on the ground, not the person he we would take to bed. "Fuck you, Scott McCall."

The gun fire was muffled. Stiles wondered how many people saw him head towards the ally. He could guarantee someone saw him express his concern about Scott’s absence. He depended on the lunch time rush to confuse Joe and Marge.

The shot hit its mark, inches above Scott’s heart. Stiles called the police before he moved. He didn’t wait for the dispatcher to speak.

"This is Detective Stilinski BHPD send immediate assistance. 10-53 man down. Send an ambulance to McCoy and Burmann, the alley south of Marge and Joe’s. I repeat 10-53 man down. Hurry the fuck up you piece of shit!"

He yelled, voice growling louder with every word. Stiles overcompensated for the bone-deep cold that settled over his senses. The dispatcher, his colleagues - they’d never seen him panicked, or with someone he cared about under attack. They’d seen him angry, and Stiles could feed off of that.

He dropped his phone, let them listen to the way he scrambled through Haddock’s pockets. There was a terrifyingly honest moment where he realized he hadn’t checked the gun for extra bullets. If there was no extra wolfsbane in the vicinity, Scott would have - but the phone caught that panic, too.

"He doesn’t have a lighter son-of-a-bitch doesn’t have a lighter hold on Scott!" 

Stiles noted where he smeared blood. 

He cradled Scott’s face, three extra bullets dropped by his side, and it stopped being an act when tears caught on his lashes. Scott’s eyes were so warm, “Just hold on.”

No one else would have caught that. 

The rest was a blur. He made sure to run into the street, banging his way into the nearest open establishment. He yelled for a lighter. He waved his badge like a gun. Stiles attracted a crowd. He made the CSI guys’ job as difficult as he could possibly manage. Stiles couldn’t control the blood splatter patterns, but he hoped the nature of wolfsbane bullets would help. They were designed to stay inside their target, to give up their momentum to splatter all over their victims. That was how they killed. Removing the wolfsbane itself wasn’t a problem, but Stiles stuck to script.

When the ambulance arrived, the EMTs decided to sedate Stiles as well. 

\----

_Fuck you, Scott McCall._

The muscles in his jaw tensed and he stared the human down, preternaturally calm. Stiles with a gun pointed at him, he was sure this image was going to stick in his nightmares. It didn’t matter if this was the only way, it was something he never wanted to see.

The bullet tore through him, shredding muscle and shattering bone.  It left him staggering, landing hard on his back and cracking the back of his skull against the pavement until the world spun. He screamed and writhed, hand pressed into the bullet hole and entire left arm numb and useless. Wolfsbane… _god_. It burned from the inside setting fire to his veins. He didn’t fake the agony, the way his spine bowed like it was going to snap in two.

 _“STILES!”_ Everything was bloody and the grinding of bone in his chest seemed too loud in his ears every time he took a ragged breath. There was so much yelling, he couldn’t separate the words from the screaming in his own head. _Hold it together, help is coming. It’ll be okay, keep breathing_. _Make it stop, make it stop!_ His vision blurred but he tried to smile at the human bending over him. Scott wanted to reassure him that everything was going to be okay, but the only thing that passed his lips was a thin drip of blood that slid down his cheek.

_It’s okay…_

Scott didn’t fight the paramedics, everything shutting down as his body went into shock.  His eyes rolled back into his head, muscles seizing as the paramedics scrambled to stop the spread of the poison.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ongoing collaborative work/RP that has been fic-i-fied! (hence the switch in POV)
> 
> You can find Tmautog's awesome fics on [tumblr](http://tmautog.tumblr.com/tagged/writing) and keep up with this story [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune/TruebornAlpha [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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